


A Hidden Softness

by starwarsbard



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Anxious!Reader, Boba Fett Needs A Hug, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I love him, boba is my baby and nobodys gonna come for me here, boba is nice idc what you guys think, reader is a hutt slave sorry man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29035191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starwarsbard/pseuds/starwarsbard
Summary: A Hutt kitchen slave catches the unyielding eye of a lethal bounty hunter, but maybe he's not so bad after all.
Relationships: Boba Fett & Reader, Boba Fett/Reader
Comments: 11
Kudos: 94





	A Hidden Softness

**Author's Note:**

> Hello guys! Welcome to my first chaptered fic! I am so excited to bring you guys this story because I've been working on it for a couple months and I'm very happy with how this first chapter turned out. Please enjoy!

Jabba had always been a selfish owner, keeping most everything in the Hutt Palace on Tatooine completely to himself. Even though you were a mere kitchen slave, you were fully expected and required to support him without complaint. 

You weren’t meant to be easy on the eyes like the more…  _ feminine _ … girls that worked the floor. Your dress and hairstyles were for kitchen function only, and you tried to keep it so you would be forgotten as quickly after serving your master and his patrons. Honestly, you didn’t think any of the dancers really  _ liked  _ the attention you didn’t receive, as you were slaves after all. You just personally preferred to stay as far away from the Rancor pit as possible. 

As much as you knew that you would despise being a dancer yourself, you couldn’t help but feel a little twinge of jealousy manifesting each time you watched them sway to the music. They were beautiful, and unlike you, had the opportunity to possibly leave the Hutt palace one day. If they kept the attention of one of Jabba’s associates, granted the Hutt lord had grown bored of them, they would be sold off without a second thought. They were still slaves but free of Tatooine and the musty halls of this palace and at the end of the day, they were desirable in some twisted way. 

You had never felt desirable, but you had no time to be wanted as you worked the rough labor in the kitchens. Your hands would get burned, but you were fed and had a place to sleep, far more than some slaves in other sects had. When your family sold you away at least they had the decency to saddle you with a financially stable clan. 

That didn’t stop you from despising every memory of them. You swore if any of them ever showed their face again you would kill them yourself. You kept your anger contained, though, knowing that a steady hand and a quiet composure would help you the most in Hutt’s Palace. 

Yes, you would stay complacent, biding your time and looking for a practical way out. That’s why you kept your head down, knowing full well that a misstep could lead to your plans of escape completely ruined. 

You should have known that you couldn’t stay in the shadows forever. 

You still remember the fateful day the infamous Boba Fett sauntered down the stairs and into the throne room, greeting your master as if he knew how much of an asset he could be to the Hutt clan. He had a reputation known from the inner rim all the way to wild space and a confidence that couldn’t be matched by any other would-be hunter that Jabba invited to work for him. 

You watched from the back of the throne room as he bowed low, getting a good look before continuing your silent walk back to the kitchen. Jabba’s dealings were none of your business, but you found yourself looking for anything exciting and new these days to pass the hours. Every slave worker of all stations would gossip fiercely about any juicy information that they came across. 

Sure enough, the palace was buzzing with excitement at his arrival, but you found yourself stressed so far past your limits that you couldn’t join anyone in the whispered wonder about the hunter. The kitchen supervisor had just yelled at you for something completely out of your control and you were working to hold back tears. Everything meshed together to create the perfect, distracting environment for you to make a major mistake. 

A tray piled high with various drinks and foods rested precariously in your hand, seeming waiting for the slightest jostle to send it flying. You tried to focus and remind yourself that you just had to set them down on the table and then you could go find a quiet place to gain your bearings for a few minutes. Being so lost in the idea of getting this run finished as quickly as possibly, you failed to fully acknowledge your surroundings as you whipped around the corner leading to the throne room. 

You ran into a wall of beskar, effectively throwing you backwards with a squeak as easily as a gust of wind would move a feather. 

You felt gravity working, yanking you to the floor and taking the precious tray needed to please patrons with it. You scrambled, uncaring about yourself and solely focused on saving the contents piled up on your tray. 

You squeezed your eyes shut in preparation for an impact that never came. 

The tray was still in your hand, a measly breath away from completely tumbling to the floor. You stared at it, trying to comprehend what had happened for you to pull off this save. It was then you felt the vice like grip holding tight to your upper arm and keeping you off the ground. A quick glance to the other side of the tray showed another hand tightly holding it level along with you. 

You whipped your head back, following the arm up to stare up at the terrifying Boba Fett. You knew he must have been looking for the comm room, but even if it made sense why you had run into each other, you froze in fear realizing you had just about spilled an entire tray of food onto one of the galaxy’s most lethal bounty hunters. 

You could feel faintly the outline of his blaster holster pressed against your hip and you began a quiet panic, breathing shallow and short. You expected him to yell, break your arm with his bare hand, and roughly throw you and your tray to the floor himself. 

The bounty hunter only cocked his head to the side quizzically while towering over you. 

“Hello,  _ little one _ ,” the nickname rolled off his tongue in an accent unfamiliar to you, pouring a liquid fire down your throat and setting your stomach ablaze. No one ever bothered to address you, and the icy stare coming from his visor had you frozen in place. 

Without a moment passing he helped you straighten up, balancing the tray. His touch was gentle through his tactical gloves, but it might as well have been a death grip with the way you flinched at it. 

“ _ Skittish _ little thing,” he grumbled as he allowed you to hold the tray alone again. He was right. Of  _ course  _ he was right, looming over you, formidable and completely right that you were physically terrified to the core. 

You became acutely aware of just how close this dangerous man was to you. You were starting to feel the need to look and see just how many armed weapons Fett had on him so you could prepare for your untimely death if the maker decided it was your time to go. 

During the avalanche of violent thoughts you didn’t notice his hand make a gentle move towards your face. Your breath caught as he swiped a finger beneath your chin, barely enough to tilt your head up to look at him better. You dared not defy him, following his lead and staring up at him with an obvious blush on your cheeks. The inky blackness of his visor gave nothing away of his intentions or emotions, but it felt like he was scrutinizing you with cold eyes tearing into your very soul. 

“Pretty though,” his voice was gravely and coarse, laced with a hidden softness that made you believe the words. Your insides did a backflip, effectively stopping your breath from filling your lungs as needed. 

Now…  _ now  _ you were  _ really  _ blushing. The best you could offer was a stuttered statement of gratitude for the compliment and the save. 

“T- thank you, s- sir…”

He shook his head after you spoke quietly with the proper title. 

“Boba.”

You knew his name from several conversations, but coming off his tongue, it was like hearing it for the first time. The power that came with it sent a shudder through your spine, and what's more he had just given  _ you _ , a lowly Hutt slave,  _ permission  _ to use it. 

You tried again timidly. 

“Thank you… B- Boba.”

He was silent for a moment, tilting his head again at your small voiced response. A small sound broke its way through the vocoder. It sounded vaguely like a singular laugh, practically a punch of air coming from his lips. 

“Don’t mention it, kid.”

And then he was gone, rejoining the main throne room instead of going to the comm room while his cape whipped behind him. 

You… 

You had to catch your breath. 

The contents of the tray rattled in your hands and made you realize you were shaking. That run in  _ should _ have left you bleeding out on the floor. 

Was it entirely possible that the terrible Boba Fett had been reasonable,  _ kind _ even when faced with a lowly kitchen slave? 

It sounded impossible, yet it had just occurred in front of your very eyes. Your upper arm burned where he had touched you, a pleasant ache to remind you that it had truly happened and wasn’t a delusion created by your mind to help cope with the day. 

You pushed forward, dropping off the drinks and food to grumbling patrons. Nobody tipped you considering the wait, but you didn’t mind as the money would have gone right back to Jabba anyways. Attempting to pocket it in hopes of buying your way out of slavery would raise plenty of red flags when you didn’t have any real source of income. You would be labeled as a thief or a whore and neither sounded like something you wanted to be known as. It was just another dead end escape plan that you had spent hours pondering before. 

You went to walk back to the kitchen while distracted with the idea of finding the hunter again, almost knocking into someone once more as your eyes finally caught onto the green beskar you had run into before. Boba stood stoically in front of Jabba, unmoving and just as formidable from afar than when he had been with you earlier. 

The clatter of the throne room prevented you from hearing most of their conversation, but suddenly an order cut through even the loudest voice. 

“ _ Slave.” _

The huttese dropped out of Jabba’s mouth, and you found yourself looking around to see who would answer the call. It suddenly occurred that there was no one else on the main floor.

Oh…

He was talking to you. 

Your feet caught as you stumbled forward, not wanting to upset the Hutt by making him wait. Some onlookers laughed at your expense, but as the blood rushed to your ears you couldn’t care less. 

Being an arms length from Boba once again did nothing to calm your nerves, and you caught him in your peripherals turning his head to watch you. This look left you paralyzed, and it didn’t help being viciously aware of the Rancor pit right beneath your feet as you awaited your master’s order. 

“ _ Get Fett a drink, slave.” _

It was bellowed loudly and you were secretly happy to back away and run to do your job, but the hunter you already had an uncomfortably close encounter with interrupted you before you had the chance to move. 

“That won’t be necessary,” terror shook your body at Boba’s response. 

No one  _ dared  _ say no to Jabba the Hutt, and those who did usually ended up falling through where you were conveniently standing. You had to pray to the maker that Jabba wasn’t feeling trigger happy with the button that operated the trap door. Your eyes flashed between Boba and your master, as silently awed as mortified while the rest of the throne room fell silent. 

“I would rather exchange pleasantries after I finish a job.”

The room was laser focused, waiting for Jabba to respond. Your heart pounded in your ears as you clutched your now empty tray to your chest, trying to ground yourself from your unwanted anxiety attack. 

Suddenly, Jabba bellowed a laugh that shook the walls. Everyone joined, the room echoing with the maniacal laughter. The trap door underneath you rumbled unpleasantly at the onslaught of sound. 

_ “Boba, Boba, Boba… fine then… Fortuna will give you all the information you need. This target has cheated me and stolen my credits… Find hm and bring him back alive.” _

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, bowing low before skittering away like a little mouse. 

Right before disappearing into the back, you looked over your shoulder one last time to peek at Boba. As Bib started to talk to him, his visor stared at you. Writing it off as an accident would be nearly impossible as Fortuna was on his opposite side and you were far removed from anyone else. You quickly bolted around the corner, pressing your back into the sandstone while keeping your tray pressed tightly to your chest. 

This attention… it was new...

By the time you came back out with the next tray of drinks, Boba was gone. 

That night, the slave quarters were buzzing, all telling stories about Jabba’s new bounty hunter. 

“ _ I heard he’s a defective clone.” _

_ “He once wrestled with a wampa and killed it with his bare hands.” _

_ “I hear he’s brought in over 7,000 bounties… dead or alive.” _

And when you let it slip that you had actually,  _ physically _ ran into him? Oh maker, you were the center of attention. The beautiful dancers crowded in and stared at you intently, waiting for the whole story with bated breath. 

You stuttered over your words, doing your best to relay the story. 

So much for a low profile. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed! I have written a bit of chapter 2 but I still have a ways to go. With classes I'm not sure when it will happen but I will try to keep you all updated!


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